(While at one foot their thronging gallies ride,
A whole hour's fail scarce reach the farther fide)
Betwixt his brazen thighs, in loose array,

Ten thousand streamers on the billows play.
By HARLEY'S Counsels Dunkirk now restor'd
To Britain's empire, owns her ancient lord.
In him transfus'd his godlike father reigns,
Rich in the blood which fwell'd that patriot's veins,
Who boldly faithful met his fov'reign's frown,
And fcorn'd for gold to yield th' important town.
His fon was born the ravish'd prey to claim,
And France still trembles at an Harley's name.
A fort fo dreadful to our English shore,

Our fleets scarce fear'd the fands or tempefts more,
Whose vaft expences to fuch fums amount,

That the tax'd Gaul fcarce furnish'd out th' account:
Whose walls fuch bulwarks, fuch vast tow'rs restrain,
Its weakest ramparts are the rocks and main;
His boast great Louis yields, and cheaply buys
Thy friendship, ANNA, with the mighty prize.
Holland repining and in grief caft down,
Sees the new glories of the British crown :
Ah! may they ne'er provoke thee to the fight,
Nor foes more dreadful than the Gauls invite,

Soon

Soon may they hold the olive, foon affuage
Their fecret murmurs, nor call forth thy rage,
To rend their banks, and pour, at one command,
Thy realm the fea o'er their precarious land.

Henceforth be thine, vice-gerent of the skies,
Scorn'd worth to raise, and vice in robes chastise;
To dry the orphan's tears, and from the bar
Chafe the brib'd judge, and hush the wordy war;
Deny the curs'd blafphemer's tongue to rage,
And turn God's fury from an impious age.
Bleft change! the foldier's late destroying hand
Shall rear new temples in his native land;
Mistaken zealots fhall with fear behold,

And beg admittance in our sacred fold;

On her own works the pious Queen shall smile,
And turn her cares upon her fav'rite isle.

So the keen bolt a warrior angel aims,

Array'd in clouds, and wrapt in mantling flames,
He bears a tempeft on his founding wings,

And his red arm the forky vengeance flings;

At length, heav'n's wrath appeas'd, he quits the war,
To roll his orb, and guide his destin❜d star,
To shed kind fate, and lucky hours bestow,
And smile propitious on the world below.

Around

Around thy throne shall faithful nobles wait,
These guard the church, and those direct the state.
TO BRISTOL, graceful in maternal tears,

The church her tow'ry forehead gently rears,
She begs her pious fon t' affert her cause,

Defend her rights, and reinforce her laws,
With holy zeal the facred work begin,

To bend the ftubborn, and the meek to win.
Our OXFORD's earl in careful thought shall stand,
To raife his Queen, and fave a finking land.
The wealthieft glebe to rav'nous Spaniards known
He marks, and makes the golden world our own:
Content with hands unfoil'd to guard the prize,
And keep the store with undefiring eyes.

So round the tree, that bore Hefperian gold,
The facred watch lay curl'd in many a fold,
His eyes up-rearing to th' untafted prey,
The fleepless guardian wafted life away.
Beneath the peaceful olives, rais'd by you,

Her ancient pride fhall ev'ry art renew;

(The arts with you, fam'd HARCOURT, fhall defend,
And courtly BOLINGBROKE, the Muse's friend)
With piercing eye fome fearch where nature plays,
And trace the wanton through her darksome maze;

Whence

I

Whence health from herbs; from feeds how groves begun,
How vital streams in circling eddies run.

Some teach, why round the fun the spheres advance,
In the fix'd measures of their mystic dance:
How tides, when heav'd by preffing moons, o'erflow,"
And fun-born Iris paints her fhow'ry bow.

In happy chains our daring language bound,
Shall sport no more in arbitrary found,

But buskin'd bards henceforth fhall wifely rage,
And Grecian plans reform Britannia's stage:
'Till Congreve bids her fmile, Augufta ftands,
And longs to weep when flowing Rowe commands:
Britain's Spectators fhall their strength combine,

To mend our morals, and our taste refine,
Fight virtue's cause, stand up in wit's defence,
Win us from vice, and laugh us into sense.
Nor, Prior, haft thou hush'd the trump in vain,
Thy lyre fhall now revive her mirthful strain,
New tales fhall now be told; if right I fee,

The foul of Chaucer is restor❜d in thee.

Garth, in majestic numbers, to the stars
Shall raise mock-heroes, and fantastic wars;
Like the young spreading laurel, Pope, thy name
Shoots up with ftrength, and rises into fame ;

With Phillips shall the peaceful vallies ring,
And Britain hear a fecond Spenser fing;

That much-lov'd youth, whom Utrecht's walls confine,

TO BRISTOL'S praises fhall his STRAFFORD'S join:

He too, from whom attentive OXFORD draws

Rules for just thinking, and poetic laws,
To growing bards his learned aid shall send,
The ftricteft critic, and the kindest friend.
Ev'n mine, a bashful Mufe, whofe rude effays
Scarce hope for pardon, not aspire to praise,
Cherish'd by you, in time may grow to fame,
And mine furvive with BRISTOL's glorious name.
Fir'd with the views this glitt'ring fcene difplays,
And fmit with paffion for my country's praise,
My artless reed attempts this lofty theme,
Where facred Ifis rolls her ancient stream;

In cloyster'd domes, the great Philippa's pride,
Where learning blooms, while fame and worth prefide,
Where the fifth Henry arts and arms was taught,
And Edward form'd his Creffy, yet unfought;
Where laurel'd bards have ftruck the warbling ftrings,
The feat of fages, and the nurse of kings.
Here thy commands, O Lancaster, inflame
My eager breaft to raise the British name;

Urge